Tuesday, September 04, 2007

And Nothing But the Truth

This morning I got to campus earlier than usual, given that I have no classes on Tuesdays or Thursdays, so I could discuss my syntax homework with some other students from my class. I spent an hour and a half debating possible analyses of English possessives, and was on a bit of a syntax high by the time I left, wanting to climb a rooftop and shout to the world, "<Specifier>, {Modifier}, (Complement), Head!"

Instead I just walked to the library, enjoying the early-autumn breeze and sunlight before descending three floors to my own personal library carrel, which is hidden in a corner no one passes, and thus shelters me from having to see another person all day long. I came to grad school partially to get a library carrel, having seen and coveted the grad students carrels in Harvard's Widener Library when I was in high school, and the fact that I can check books out and leave them there thrills me every time I think about it.

And now I'm awake, slightly past midnight, dressed in my standard paper-writing outfit, a sarong, tank top, and head scarf, eating trail mix and writing up the solution to my syntax homework, which has reached six pages thus far and will probably stretch all the way to the maximum ten. I get to use words like "constituent" and "lexical frame" a lot, and every so often I have to jump up and ask my roommate whether she thinks whether, in a phrase like "that story about the dog of his," the story or the dog belong to him. (Anyone? Bueller?)

I rarely tell the truth on my blog, as self-satire and sarcasm are funnier, but here it is: I am happy. I count pennies and walk everywhere and spend entire days in the library and entire nights at my computer, and can imagine no better life. Sometimes I grin to myself, when I hear the subway rattling under me when I walk to school, or when the class bell rings as I sit outside reading Old Malay epics. I always knew I was born near grad school and during grad school, and now I know I can add one more preposition: I was born for grad school.


The Dancing Newt said...

It's totally his dog.

Anyway I'm glad to hear you're enjoying yourself.

Grad school producer said...

The story is about HIS dog, right? In fact, I can't read it any other way. I'm glad to read the story about her graduate school. Go grad geek.

Anonymous said...

I am pretty sure Bueller was not in the class--it was his girlfriend. As an economist this scene holds a special place in my heart.

I think he has a great story about a police dog--like that fantastic scene in Reservoir Dogs.